During The Blizzard (Amidst A Snowstorm Of Love)

Canto 88: Old Rivals - One Team

“Competition breeds excellence sometimes the best competition comes from former rivals now on the same team.” - Pat Riley

Translator: Wuxia Studio, Editor: J.C Forester (Mrphysit)

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The training room was a deserted island of illumination, bathed in an unnatural glow amidst the surrounding darkness. Here, in this sanctuary from the enforced slumber, Lin Yiyang and Meng Xiaodong, veterans of countless tournaments, held court. Coach's special permission granted them sole dominion over their training schedule.

A flash of red, white, and blue – the national team uniform – announced Jiang Yang's arrival. He draped himself against the wall by the door, one arm slung casually across his neck. His gaze landed on the closest table, where Meng Xiaodong, a whirlwind of motion, initiated the first act of their self-imposed drill: alternate goals, one for two.

As Meng Xiaodong juggled a crimson orb and its multicolored companion, a frown creased his brow. He hefted the cue, his posture straightening with a touch of annoyance. His eyes darted towards Lin Yiyang, who leaned indolently against the opposite wall, engrossed in his phone.

"Enough lovey-dovey," Meng Xiaodong's voice cut through the quiet, laced with a hint of exasperation. "Let's practice."

Lin Yiyang, unfazed, tapped out a message a single word,

‘Sleep.’

Before slipping his phone away. He turned his gaze to Jiang Yang.

Jiang Yang, with a knowing smile, chimed in, his voice a low harmony, "Don't worry, my friend. I can still play for one or two."

Lin Yiyang offered a curt nod in agreement.

Meng Xiaodong had always bristled at the Dongxincheng crew and their devil-may-care attitude. Whether on the court or in the locker room, their lack of focus grated on him. Yet, he couldn't deny the shift since Lin Yiyang's return. There was a renewed fire, a push to excel.

Greatness attracts greatness, a silent competition that whispers of limitless potential. Lin Yiyang's prowess served as a constant prod, a challenge to his peers, urging them to shed complacency and chase their own horizons.

Lin Yiyang saw a shadow cross Meng Xiaodong's face. He strode to the table, cue held purposefully.

"Boring drills," Lin Yiyang declared, leaning close, a playful glint in his eye that belied his intent. "Let's pick up the pace."

Meng Xiaodong's voice was clipped. "I'm good," he said, clenching his jaw to fight back a retort. "Don't think I can't keep up if you speed things up."

Lin Yiyang raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge met with a playful smirk. Just you wait, old friend.

For the next half hour, the table became a blur of flying balls and rhythmic cracks. Jiang Yang, a silent observer, munched on pistachios, the crunch of shells providing a counterpoint to the competition.

Finally, Jiang Yang spoke. "Thirsty work," he said, rising. "Let me grab some drinks."

Lin Yiyang sent a final shot, a perfect cue ball arcing over the table. With a laugh, Jiang Yang dodged the cue ball, his white tracksuit jacket billowing as he exited the room, a bag of white shells his only trophy.

He returned with a battered red thermos and mismatched plastic cups, a few sporting questionable tea stains. "Time for a break," Jiang Yang announced, setting the cups on the bench and carefully pouring steaming water. "Wet your whistles, boys."

Meng Xiaodong's habitual frown deepened. "Tea at one in the morning?" he grumbled. The unspoken question hung in the air: ‘Are you trying to keep us awake all night?’